Abigail
"Mrs. Kellerman, the caterers have been stabilized. There's no issue anymore," one of the chefs for the gala reported, dipping his head with the tall white cap bobbing as he did.
It had been four days since Santorini, and I was still drifting around in a dreamy haze.
The Wolfe Corporation charity gala was in full swing. The hall was lit up with crystal chandeliers, a live orchestra, and the city's elite businessmen and billionaires packed the room.
I loved balls and parties, but managing one was a whole different ball game. I needed it to go as flawlessly as possible so Finnegan could have one less thing to worry about.
His witch of a mother was around, and that was enough headache, considering she'd tried to change the entire order of the program.
My sleek, backless emerald green gown clung to every curve. The dress had a high slit that flashed my leg with every step, and I'd paired it with strappy gold heels.
